The Archangel
by violaqueen93
Summary: The Angels have fallen, Heaven sealed off. There is only one being that can even stand a fighting chance against Metatron and Hell, but can they even make a difference? Is this one fight the Winchesters are helpless?
1. The Beginning

In the aftermath of what they were calling colloquially the Event, the Winchesters and the newly mortal Castiel were consumed in locating and retrieving as many angels as they could, transporting them to and sheltering them in the Men of Letters bunker. Rather, Dean and Sam were the ones involved in most of the rescue and recovery part; Castiel, still weak and adjusting to the restrictions of humanity, remained in the bunker, providing a calm presence and counseling for the dozens of traumatized fallen angels now under their care. Dean or Sam would return every other week or so, trailing a line of the newest bedraggled, bewildered former angels in need of comfort and safety before leaving again. Sometimes they would stay longer, sometimes not, but Castiel never depended on it and frankly barely noticed the Winchesters, much too preoccupied with healing his brother and sister angels.

The latest batch to arrive was led by Dean, a ragtag group recently freed from the psychiatric ward in a hospital two states over. Numbering around fifteen, Dean had commandeered a church bus to move them all to the bunker. The thought of him driving a bus full of angels in a church bus had brought a momentary flash of mirth, though the constant worry, fear, and confusion clear on the faces of the angels quickly snapped him back to his duty, and he felt a sense of relief as he pulled up to the bunker entrance.

He twisted in the driver's seat to look back at his passengers. "Stay here okay?" Most gazed back at him with the same uncomprehending expression Dean had so often received from Castiel in the old days.

One of the female angels near the front, who Dean found to be the most level headed of the group, responded after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "We will remain aboard the vehicle, Dean Winchester."

Dean blinked. "Uh..right then, I'll be right back." He muttered, fumbling with the seatbelt and climbing down out of the bus. Stretching his arms out and covering a yawn, Dean strode across the familiar unpaved road, blinking in the dewy morning air. Driving had taken most of the night. He checked his phone, grimacing as he read the time to be half past four A.M. Raising a hand to buzz a wakeup call to Kevin or Castiel, Dean stumbled back as the door swung open before he had the chance to even remove the cover of the buzzer, revealing Castiel.

Castiel was sharp and businesslike in his manner. "Where are they?" Dean stared at him, eyes roaming over the shadowed hollows beneath Castiel's eyes to the exhausted set of his shoulders before stifling another huge yawn and jerking his thumb toward the van. Castiel let his severe expression soften somewhat, laying a hand on Dean's upper arm. "You need to rest my friend. I will see to my brethren."

He started to protest but Castiel had already gone, striding down toward the bus. Worry creased Dean's brow as he watched Castiel board the stolen bus, speaking quietly to those on board. Under his patient guidance, the entire group disembarked and made their way into the bunker with minimal fuss or fight, a real problem with the first groups they tried to bring back to the bunker. Fresh from the trauma of the fall and in the grips of a particular terror, the angels had demanded answers that Castiel and the Winchesters didn't have. Sam and Dean were forced to restrain several angels after tensions boiled over and tempers snapped, causing violence and even more fright to the other angels. The newer groups however, after several weeks of living on Earth, stripped of power, were simply too exhausted to fight.

Castiel passed by him, holding the hands of an angel with the vessel of a young woman and murmuring to her, too low for Dean to catch. He straightened up. "Cas."

Glancing over at him, Castiel shook his head. "Not now Dean." Dean could only watch as Castiel led the group of fallen angels deeper into the bunker.

* * *

"Does he ever sleep?"

Kevin glanced up at him. "Castiel? Never. He's with them 24/7."

Dean frowned as he gazed back down into the huge space in the bunker they had converted into a sort of fallen angel triage and refugee camp. Castiel was down there, moving between the rows of beds, offering food, clasping hands, and in one case kissing the forehead of one of the angels. Some of the angels from the first groups seemed to be doing the same. Dean didn't know why the Men of Letters felt the need to include a huge space with nearly 300 beds within the bunker, but he chalked it up to his predecessor's eerie ability to foresee nearly all of their needs. Still, even with 300 beds they were running out of space. Sam was investigating a vast plot of land in the Northwest that the Men of Letters owned to see if they could create a fallen angel settlement there, but that would take some time to organize, and sheltering the angels were far from their only responsibility. Dean began mentally ticking off all the known groups that still needed to be collected, the supplies that they needed, the list of hunters calling in from all over the country with angels of their when a cry from the ground floor jerked him out of his musings.

"Castiel! Castiel!" A young male angel was on his knees next to Castiel, who was sprawled awkwardly on the floor. Around them, fear entered the faces of the angels once more and a cry of panic began to spread through the entire room.

Dean was on the floor in a second, roughly shoving the hysterical angel to the side. "What happened?"

"He just collapsed, I didn't see anything, is he alive?" the angel blubbered as Dean took Castiel's shoulders and shook them.

"Cas. Castiel! Dammit Cas!" Dean swore as Castiel blinked, sitting up with a confused expression.

"Dean. Divri, why are you weeping, I…"

"Right." Dean slung Castiel's arm over shoulder, hauling both of them to their feet. "You are going to get some rest whether you like it or not. He's fine," Dean groused to the still panicked angels. "Go read a Bible or something."

* * *

Dean hustled them both down the hallway. "Dean, you should not treat them so." Castiel chided, his voice gravelly and strained as Dean kicked in a door, grunting slightly under Castiel's deadweight. "They need help."

"No, you need help." Dean retorted, slinging Castiel down onto a cot in one of the private rooms in the bunker. Castiel slumped against the headboard though began to struggle to sit up. "When was the last time you slept?"

"No, I, I need to be there with them Dean. I'm the only authority figure to them with any sense of what has happened. Only I can calm them-"

"Cas!" Castiel fell silent at Dean's angry outburst. "When was the last time you slept?"

Castiel glanced around the room, shuffling his hands. "I haven't."

Dean blinked at Castiel's muttered answer. "You…man, it's been weeks! You're human now, you need to sleep!"

"No."

Once again, Dean was struck speechless. He rubbed his jaw and braced himself against a chair back. "Cas, I don't know if you realize, but I have more experience," he emphasized the word, glaring at Castiel. "at this whole being human thing. Seeing as though I've been one all my life and you-"

"Helping them is the only reason I'm still living Dean." Castiel finally gave up the fight to get vertical, leaning back against the wall, his breath quick and shallow. He gazed off into nothing, his shoulders slumped, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. "I close my eyes…I see everything I've done. All the wrong choices I've made. All the suffering, all the destruction. Helping my brothers and sisters…that's the right choice Dean. I stop, even for one moment…I won't be able to handle whatever I remember." Castiel finally met Dean's uncomprehending eyes. "I would kill myself as soon as I woke."

They stared at each other for one long moment. Suddenly Dean straightened, brushing his hands off on his jeans. "Okay then," the bravado masking the tremor they both could hear. "I'll watch you. Make sure you don't wake up alone and try to, to-"

"Kill myself?" Castiel finished dourly.

Dean glared at him. "Yea. That."

Castiel considered him uneasily. "It's a kind offer Dean, but I'm sure you have other tasks, responsibilities to-"

"Nope, got all the time in the world Cas." Dean cut him off, turning to swing the chair around. "In fact, I need a break too so…oh."

Castiel was already snoring.

* * *

It was a habit of Dean's to read his father's journal whenever he was stressed. It had a calming effect on him, from the soft feel of the worn leather to John Winchester's untidy scrawl. Sometimes Dean could almost hear his father's voice reading the text, branding every word, every obscure fact about every monster John had ever encountered in his son's mind. He supposed that's why Sam claimed he was so good with the lore; after rereading John's journal thousands and thousands of times, Dean figured he had the whole thing memorized.

The monster of the week that night happened to be vampires. Dean didn't need the refresher- on the contrary, after the countless kills, dealing with the Alpha vamp, and Benny, he figured he was as close to an expert on the creatures as he could be- but reading instructions on how to behead them, how to utilize dead man's blood, hearing the words in his father's voice and reading the words in his handwriting, reassured him somehow.

He smoothed his hand over the familiar pages, breathing in its comfortable scent.

"Arghh!" Castiel sat straight up on the cot with a cry as Dean swore, fumbling the journal through his fingers. It thumped to the floor, pages fluttering over the smooth stone.

Dean's voice shot up two octaves as he righted himself, his eyes round with shock. "What the hell Cas?"

Castiel turned his eye onto Dean. "He has a plan."

"A plan? What plan? Cas?"

Castiel's face had never been so white. "Michael."


	2. The Dream

Dean dragged a chair over, agitatedly rubbing his jaw. "Run that by me again Cas. Michael?" Dean couldn't help the feeling of dread that swept over him when Michael was mentioned. He could recall with perfect clarity the moment he almost capitulated to the angel's demands and allowed Michael in, which would have led to the legendary fight between Michael and Lucifer and possibly the end of the planet. Arrogant son of a bitch had sent his minions after them when it seemed Dean's stubbornness would win out, wounding or killing his mother, father, half-brother Adam, and Sam.

Now, Dean was no stranger to forgiveness (he had to be- Sam was his brother after all, and as much as he loved the guy he could really make some boneheaded moves sometimes), but he would never, ever forget the threat Michael had once posed to his family. And still posed…supposedly.

Castiel glanced over to see Dean's stormy expression. "Aside from Metatron, Michael and Lucifer are the only intact celestial beings left. A lot of my brethren have been praying-"

"To Michael?" Dean interrupted incredulously, holding his hands up in surrender as Castiel glared at him.

Smoothing a hand over the lapels of his trench coat, Castiel seemed to choose his words carefully. "Michael ruled Heaven for millennia. If any being is strong enough to defeat Metatron, he is."

"Wait wait wait a minute now Cas." Dean leaned back, running trembling hands over his head as a sick feeling swept through him. "Michael is still in the Cage, right? The Cage, the angel proof cage that God designed?" When Castiel didn't react to his angry skepticism , simply gazing at him with the "lost puppy" expression he wore so well, Dean snorted and stood. "Okay, nap time's over. The halo patrol is going to need you if what you say about that bastard is true, and that fifth of 50 year old whiskey is sounding real good right about now."

Castiel, though his brow furrowed with some confusion, assented to his demands, rising up and walking toward where Dean stood just outside the doorway. He stopped as he drew level. "You shouldn't use alcohol to cope with the situation Dean," he said quietly.

Dean was taken aback, and stared at Castiel's retreating figure. "Yeah, well thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil!" he shouted down the hall. Frustration coursed through his thoughts, and he abruptly turned and headed to his own room. Truth be told, he was bone-tired, having been alert all the time from when he picked up the last gaggle of bumbling idiots to having to babysit Castiel's snooze fest. He considered calling Sam, but quickly dismissed it. There wasn't any hard proof that Michael was rising from the Cage, just a sleep deprived Castiel rambling on about some dream presence, and that didn't warrant making Sam more nervous of the Cage than he already was. If Michael was rising, then was something else as well…?

No, Dean wouldn't go to Sam with this, not yet at least. If Lucifer were rising again, Dean knew Sam well enough to know that the revelation would be mentally devastating to him. Speaking of, Sam would probably be knocked off kilter just as much by the news of Michael's rising. Sam never spoke of Michael in the Cage, more concerned with Lucifer's torments, and Dean wondered just what horrors Michael had inflicted upon his brother.

Tossing his father's journal on the small beside table, Dean flopped down on his bed, sighing comfortably as the memory foam automatically adjusted to "cradle his body's every contour" or whatever crap they said on the infomercials. Sam, Lucifer, Michael, Castiel, vampires, a busload of angels, Kevin Tran…they all circled around his head until he blessedly sank into unconsciousness.

Michael gazed at him, a look of compassion that Dean hated crossing his face. "Let it be known that I don't expect you to be in agreement with this Dean. Nor do I condemn you for it. But I am asking that you remain on the sidelines until you are needed."

Dean's hand flew to his shotgun. "The hell I am." Suddenly he frowned, his gaze jerking around the room. How did he get here? With Michael no less, sitting in the Beautiful Room? Michael, who still wore Adam's body, who was sitting calmly in the chair across from Dean, his expression tinged with sadness. In a flash Dean realized he was dreaming and immediately went on the offensive, snatching up the gun and blasting. "So we're invading my dreams again?" he spat out as the smoke cleared, venom in every syllable.

Michael didn't react to Dean's savage growl. Instead, the angel simply brushed off bits of rock salt from his shoulders. "The only way I could contact you Dean."

"And why the hell would you want to contact me? In case you're wondering, the answer is still no." Dean's voice was flat, but his thoughts were whirling at incredible speeds. The only reason he could come up with as to why Michael was contacting him was because the archangel wanted to possess him for some reason, to work whatever power he could through Dean.

And there were two things in the world that Dean was absolutely certain of. One, that his job was to protect Sammy. And two, that he would never, ever, let himself be possessed. By anything.

But mostly angels.

Michael was silent for a moment, simply studying Dean, a slight frown crossing his face. His voice was quiet. "I know."

Taken aback, Dean gaped at Michael before recovering. "Then why you here?" He demanded, his voice gruff.

"Because I need you to understand." Michael rose to his feet and paced to stand in front of one of the gilt framed paintings on the wall, beckoning to Dean. "Come."

Against his better judgment, Dean warily joined Michael at the wall, nervously glancing around the room. Michael seemed to take no notice, gazing intently the picturesque landscape in front of them, and before Dean's incredulous eyes, the paint began to run into a massive swirl of paint, blurry, indistinct forms beginning to take shape. Lightning cracked across the painted sky, two figures, as tall as skyscrapers, moving toward each other with the unmistakable intention of impending battle.

Michael's voice became a soft narrative for the drama unfolding in front of them. "The final battle, when I cast my brother Lucifer into Hell. Heaven was…disorganized in the centuries afterward. My father gone, Lucifer as well. I was injured, weak. Raphael sought to take control as I recovered. He blamed humanity for the loss of my father and brother and wanted to abandon my father's creation to your own devices, and create a world under the angel's rule." A dark shadow rose up behind the lone remaining figure. Looming structures rose up in the murkiness, swirling beings scurrying back and forth under the shadowy specter, and Dean took a step forward, the painted scenes dancing before his eyes. He squinted as the victor of the battle's form shakily stood, moving toward the dark shape Dean took to be Raphael. Brilliant colors erupted as the two collided. "I managed to quell Raphael's uprising, and humanity continued along its natural course. I placed my brothers and sisters on Earth, as observers and guardians of my father's work." The painting swirled again, depicting the evolution of the Earth, from ancient times to present day, and Dean could now see the subtle machinations of the angels throughout history, preventing Lucifer's thoughts from tainting innocent minds or stopping escaped demons from manipulating history to Hell's agenda. A brilliant white light glowed from the middle of the United States, and the scene rearranged itself to a portrait of Mary Winchester lovingly holding an infant that Dean was shocked to recognize as himself before shifting back into the original landscape.

Michael's voice was quiet. "The rest, I believe, you already know."

Dean couldn't speak for a moment. "So what does all this have to do with me then?" he growled. If he was being honest, Michael didn't seem to be trying to convince him of anything at this point. He wasn't quite sure what the archangel wanted, but Dean assumed it would be something he wouldn't like.

Michael turned to face him. "Everything, Dean," he answered softly, holding up a hand when Dean's mouth opened. "You'll understand in time, but you need to know. I have been protecting humanity since my father created me. My brothers and sisters trusted in me to guide them in my father's absence, and I have done what I believed was right. I don't mean to cause any harm," he cut off Dean's unspoken comment. "But I will do what is necessary to restore Heaven, and allow my brothers and sisters to return home."

A thought struck Dean halfway through Michael's monologue, and anger ballooned until he could hold it in no longer. "Yeah? What about Sam? If you were 'protecting humanity' all along….you tortured him in the Cage. You broke him!"

A sigh escaped Michael and a shadow passed over his eyes. "You don't see, Dean, do you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Michael shook his head. "We don't have much time Dean, and there are more pressing issues we need to discuss. But know that I never sought to harm your brother."

"Bullshit, and you know it." Dean was so angry he was shaking. "He stopped your stupid Apocalypse, and he was trapped in the Cage with you and Lucifer. I was with him when his soul escaped. He would have died if Cas hadn't saved him!"

"Look harder Dean." Michael advised softly as the Beautiful Room began to dissolve into a thick white mist. "I'll be in touch."

Dean woke with a jerk, chest heaving, gulping in big lungfuls of air. The sheet below him was drenched with sweat, and he shook his head as he hauled himself into a sitting position, trying to make sense of Michael's message.


End file.
